


Away From the Numbers

by EntreNous



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Daddy Kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Older Xander, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:45:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike's been more than done with the high-school and college crowd for years. Good thing Xander Harris is now very grown up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to tag this "Age Difference", but of course Spike is actually older than Xander. But Spike is a perpetual adolescent, whereas Xander is very much all-growed-up in this fic, so there's a sorta-kinda Age Difference vibe in this despite facts. Unbeta'ed for now, and a WiP.

It's nothing unusual for Spike to run after a group of people screaming to see if something toothy and nasty is trying to do in a few humans before midnight.

It's typical, really, to find there's a demon that's backed a gaggle of shrieking teenagers against a brick wall, its fangs dripping viscous purple fluid as it bears down on them.

Teenagers, Spike muses as he flings the one caught in the demons jaws to the side for his friends to collect and jams an elbow in what looks to be the demon's only soft spot along what passes for a throat: always getting in the way of baddies, aren't they?

Most of the kids run, shouting and stumbling, as Spike _oofs_ when he's smashed against the brick wall where they were cowering -- again, as per usual. Teenagers always run as soon as they can, ungrateful lot they are. But as it gets them out of harm's way, Spike supposes he can't complain much if they don't stick around to buy him a whiskey and a pack of smokes after.

Of course, _after_ might be a while coming if the demon he's grappling with keeps putting up a fight, Spike thinks sourly as he gets a face full of fetid agonized breath when he breaks the demon's third arm.

It's only when he hears a determined yell behind him that he realizes one of the idiots has stayed behind after all, flung himself into the fray to try and help. Bloody little help he is, obviously, except as a very temporary distraction; Spike's soon rolling along the ground as the demon bats him away in irritation and focuses on this new sure bet of a victim.

And now he's going to have to walk or stumble some scared boy home to mummy and daddy after he's swept up and closed the shop, Spike realizes with growing annoyance when he hears a cry of pain from the kid.

He sighs and heaves himself up to his feet all at once before flying forward in game face, in a fairly tricky combat move it's a shame no one fuckable's around to see. The boy doing his level best to get himself killed in the demon's huge jaws closing around his middle isn't any sort of contender even if he looks, in the breaks between the screaming, like an attractive little sod, big eyes and wavy brown hair and fit body. However young he himself might look, though, Spike's been more than done with the high-school and college crowd for years now. Too much drama and angst and finding themselves; he'd overdosed on that sort of thing back in Sunnydale.

Finally Spike manages to extract the boy and shove him out of the way so he can launch a proper attack at the foul-breathed creature still roaring for a fight. At least the thing hasn't come with any back-up, he consoles himself as he leaps onto one of its legs and wrenches hard, getting it to thunder to the ground.

It's still a puzzle how to finish the thing off or get it to run, though Spike takes assessment as he drives a steel-toed boot into its carcass, aiming between the heavy scales covering the flesh. At least, it's going to be a job and a half to end it without some back-up of his own, and the scrawny teenager lying panting and moaning a few feet away isn't the sort Spike would count on his side even in a fair fight.

"Christ, Toby -- what part of 'be home by midnight' do you just not get, huh?"

There's a newcomer on the scene: before Spike can get bent out of shape at another human arriving to double his protect-and-rescue caseload, he sees the latest recruit haul back a two-by-for and let it fly once, twice, thrice at the growling demon who's just barely noticed they're now a party of four. The thing quivers on its feet, sways, and Spike only just manages to scramble off before it collapses with a sickening _thud_ that actually shakes the ground around them. At the opening, Spike gets both arms around the thing's neck, braces himself against the ground, and twists as hard as he can until he hears that _crack_ of a broken whatever-passes-for-a-spine in this sort of creature.

"Ow," the kid on the ground complains, and his da, for only such would announce his entry to a horrifying scene of demonic mayhem with complaints about curfew, hefts him up, his son's skinny arm clinging to broad shoulders for support.

The dad's got his back to Spike, standing surprisingly loose-limbed despite having just knocked out a snarling behemoth with a bit of wood. He's got the same dark wavy hair as the son he's just helped up, but he's all grown-up stance and confidence to the kid's scrawny pained posture.

"Sprained wrist, huh?" the man announces after some pokes and prods while the boy gives a whine that's more petulance than pain. "Maybe a cracked rib or two?"

Obviously the kid opens his mouth to answer, because the dad suddenly snaps, "You're not even getting half a chance to bullshit your way through this one, Tob. Forget the damn curfew, because right now we're going to have a little chat about that pesky tendency of yours to make the worst decisions _ever_ about anything that goes bump in the night."

Spike slowly rises to his feet, because despite the unfamiliar self-assurance radiating from the man a few meters away, there's far more familiar about him: his solid frame; that voice, even deepened as it has become by age; the speech patterns Spike well remembers rolling his eyes at round about twenty-five years or so ago. He takes a step closer, and then another, enough to see the casual sling of an eye-patch across temple and forehead, how the once easily-recognizable brown hair is now shot through with grey, how the clothes and the hair and the everything are no longer cobbled-together hand-me-downs posturing at manhood but instead are now the real deal.

"Now," Xander Harris tells his son patiently even as he adjusts him gently in his arms as easily as if this Toby were eight years old instead of more like eighteen. "What do we do when something scary tries to chomp on us or kill us dead?"

"We run like hell," Toby says sullenly in response to the prompt. Spike reflects this sounds like a family motto, is in fact probably embroidered somewhere on a hideous green velvet keepsake pillow in the Harris family home: _When Trouble's Afoot, We Run Like Hell_.

"Except I had to help, dad, jeez!" Toby adds, full of resentment and accusation. "What, am I supposed to just trot home to finish up my chem problem set and let the other guy get smooshed to death? Because if I am, you're like the worst example on the west coast -- you always get in the middle when something like this happens!"

"Look, buddy, until you're eighteen -- scratch that, twenty-one -- scratch that, until you're _forty-five_ \-- you have to do what I say. But daddies get to do whatever they want," Xander says patiently.

An odd gleam goes off in Toby's wide eyes. "So if I were a dad, I'd get to do whatever --"

"Yeah, so not happening with those multiple workshops on safe sex and young adult responsibility I've dragged you to, champ," Xander interrupts without a lick of sympathy when Toby winces and actually covers his ears at the word 'sex' coming from his father's mouth.

"Of which I've been to, like a thousand. He's been a total freak about that stuff, especially since he started dating guys," Toby turns to tell Spike in a perfect show of unrepentant adolescent indiscretion. Then it's back to his dad to keep up the litany of complaints: "Never mind that there's no way anyone's going to sleep with me if I've seriously got to be home by midnight on weekends like a total loser!"

Obviously reminded they've got company by Toby's jibber-jabber, Xander turns, still supporting his son. Spike actually swallows. It's an echo of what a very human sort of youthful trepidation tastes like in his mouth, because Xander looks truly stern and formidable, as though he's about to ream out one of Toby's little friends for getting caught up in the melee.

Then Xander pauses, blinks. But the slack-jawed reaction Spike's expecting based on the boy Xander was years ago never comes. Instead, Xander stills for a moment and laughs out loud. "Of all the goddamn -- Spike? What the hell are you doing in town, you complete bastard?"

Spike's barely registered Toby's huff of annoyance signaling he's getting dragged along for the ride before Xander fucking Harris has clapped Spike around the shoulders in a weirdly protective bear-hug, as if Spike is one of Toby's little miscreant friends after all.


	2. Chapter 2

There's absolutely no reason Spike should spend the next day hiding out at Xander Harris's house.

If he needs to lie low, he's got a bolt-hole not far from the run-down warehouse district he'd found himself in last night. It's not got much in the way of amenities, of course, but he'd stayed years in crypts far worse.

Really, he's got no grounds to stay in town at all. The original demon Gunn texted him about is long splattered, and one restless week of patrolling later, most of the resident baddies have been run off or subdued.

On balance, then, he's no need to stay at the home of one Xander Harris, even as nicely filled-out and grown-up as that Xander Harris looks these days. Obviously Spike was ready to reject the invite to crash there as soon as he'd heard it; sentimental, the whole proposal of "catching up" Xander offered, and most likely boring at that. No, best for him to move on.

That he wakes up in Xander's guestroom with blackout shades drawn over the windows and fresh towels on the bureau is testament to how very weak-willed Spike can act given the proper chance.

But in all fairness to himself, seeing the muscles in Xander's thighs bunch and stretch against his fitted jeans while Spike had sauntered after him and Harris Junior to their truck had rather taken the matter out of his hands.

So Spike wriggles against a soft mattress and punches the pillow beneath his head, and wonders if he might not stick around for a few days more. Though Spike suspects the demon from last night was an out-of-towner (based on the way it lumbered uncertainly as it smashed Spike around a brick corner; he reckons a native would know the narrow alleys and niches better), could be the area villains need a bit more quelling. Really, for the American way and all that, he ought to stick around for a few more days to make sure Scaly Halitosis Creature doesn't have any fast friends waiting in the wings.

'Sides, catching up with this Xander Harris, the one with an easy laugh no longer encumbered by a wiry thread of anxiety running through it, the one who has big-boy spiffy towels instead of the small cuts of fabric unraveling thread by thread he'd thrust at Spike lo those many days ago in that manky basement, the one who gives a crooked charming smile as he wishes Spike good night when the sun's started to creep up toward the horizon -- well, Spike's vampire enough to admit the appeal.

Now the sun's dipped down and hazy evening light's creeping round the house, Spike hefts himself to standing and goes in search of some conversation and maybe a drink or three.

A disquieting crunching sound's coming from the kitchen. The tally of demons who make a noise like that runs through Spike's head before he so much as realizes he's strategizing and slowing down to muffle his steps.

It's been a very long time indeed since he's lurked around teenagers, though, if he's forgotten what the sound of a boy munching his way through an enormous bowl of cereal sounds like.

"Toby," Spike rumbles in greeting when he discovers Xander's son hunched at the kitchen table. Toby grunts in reply, spooning up the contents of his ceramic bowl, milk and neon-colored pieces of cereal dripping from his spoon.

"Your Da around?"

Toby replies, an expressive look of boredom on his face. But whatever he says gets lost in his mouthful of half-chewed cereal.

"That's supposed to be, 'Dad said to tell you there's blood in the fridge,' '" Xander points out as he strolls in and ruffles up Toby's hair. "We're still working on that whole elocution thing for this one."

"Dad," Toby says, aggrieved. He paws at his hair with one hand, tugging it back into whatever mess passes for style these days.

Yanking open the door of a humming fridge, Spike raises an eyebrow when he finds not just one but five blood packets awaiting him. " 'preciate it," he remembers to mutter after he stops himself staring. "Hope it wasn't much trouble."

Xander waves his words away, leaning back against the sink, one long leg crossed over the other at the ankle. "I know a guy."

"Do you now?" Spike asks, glancing at the way Xander's t-shirt pulls tight across his chest.

He's about to tease out exactly how many guys Xander knows these days (Toby's helpful little betrayal of parental trust last night about Xander dating blokes hasn't been forgotten). But he's interrupted as a voice sing-songs out, "Dadddddyy, hi!" and the back door swings open.

Spike blinks at the tall brunette with a blinding smile, pink wedge espadrille sandals and an exceptionally short-skirted dress who rushes in with her arms full of an overflowing basket of laundry.

"Never the week to eat your mom out of house and home or use up all her detergent, is it?" Xander asks cheerfully, pulling the newcomer into a hug as soon as she lets the basket drop on the floor. "Hi Jilly."  
"That's Jill," Toby tells Spike, gesturing her way with his spoon. "She's supposed to live on campus now, but she's like _always_ around."

"Shut up, Toby," Jill returns with a toothy smile. Still snuggled into her father's embrace, she snaps her gaze to Spike, kohl-lined dark eyes widening before she rolls them dramatically.

"Is one of them seriously moving in already?" she scolds in a loud whisper as she steps away from her father and frowns. "I've never even met this guy! Plus, a little young! What is he, like a couple years older than me? That's completely disgusting, Daddy."

"Spike's _visiting_ ," Toby interrupts, emphasizing the second word as though Jill is extremely slow to pick up on such concepts. "Since last night."

"Well, who is he, then?" Jill demands, hands on slim hips. "One of Toby's loser friends? Must be, with a dumb name like 'Spike'."

"Hey!" Toby and Spike object at the same time.

"Jilly-pie, quit it with the attitude," Xander says absently. He's crossed the room and reached the fridge during Jill's railing. Now he absently and easily lifts Spike aside with a practiced move so he can reach in for a beer. "Chaser?" he asks Spike, holding up a second bottle with a questioning wriggle. Seeing Spike's still just standing there, he pushes a packet of blood into his hands before giving him a little shove. "Microwave's that-a-way -- just don't use the funky blue ceramic mugs, because they get crazy hot."

Clutching the bag of blood, Spike finds himself trotting docile-like over to the indicated appliance.

"Wait, no. No. _Another_ vampire?" Jill asks, eyebrows raised and arms crossed.

"Another?" Spike repeats, glancing Xander's way.

"Spike's an old friend," Xander answers, calmly turning his attention to twisting the caps off both beers before sliding one bottle down the counter at Spike. Spike catches it, taking a long pull on it while he waits for the microwave timer to go _ping!_

"Fine. No one tell me what's going on," Jill declares. "I'm putting in my delicates and calling Wanda."

"Wanda's Jill's best friend," Toby confides as his sister flounces out best she can whilst staggering slightly under the weight of her laundry. "She's a total bitch even though she's super hot."

"No calling women bitches, pal," Xander advises, stepping closer to smack Toby lightly upside the head.

"But she - geez, fine," Toby complains, grabbing his head and scowling.

"Look, buddy, no girl's a bitch because she won't look your way," Xander explains. He takes a few gulps of his beer. Since the most observant of the lot of them has already sashayed out the room, Spike goes ahead and watches Xander's throat work appealingly as he swallows.

"You're only fifteen," Xander continues reasonably. "No one wants to look your way."

"He's not so bad," Spike puts in diplomatically (he is a guest, after all). Toby's too skinny and a bit spotty, but he'll be a looker like his dad soon enough. "Seem to remember your dad did all right for himself by the time he was seventeen. Witches. Slayers. Ex-demons. So there's that to look forward to."

"Oh, gross, you knew him when he was seventeen?" Toby moans, clearly deeply offended at the idea his dad has ever been anything but a dad.

Xander grins as Toby hustles to set his bowl clattering in the sink before flying out of the kitchen. "He's hightailing it out before we can start reminiscing."

"Clever lad."

The microwave finally goes _ping!_ Spike fetches the mug and takes a seat at the table when he sees Xander do the same.

"Daddy, where's that powder stuff?" Jill yells from what sounds to be the garage.

"Top shelf, baby," Xander calls back.

"Thank you, Daddy," she answers sweetly. Spike has no doubt it's all part of a build-up to ask for cash.

Spike laughs low. "Funny, that. Never thought I'd live the day when I heard anyone call _you_ daddy." He takes a sip of his blood and waits for Xander to sputter like he remembers him doing back in Sunnydale.

Instead he gets more proof of how much has changed when Xander shakes his head fondly, saying, "Oh, Spike. Plenty of people have been more than happy to call me daddy."

Turns out Xander has to reach out to whack Spike helpfully across the back as Spike chokes on his blood.


	3. Chapter 3

"What did you do to him?" Jill asks when she returns, hands on her hips as she regards Spike recovering from his choking fit. Her eyes actually flicker over their clothing as if to check for evidence. "This is the kitchen, remember. No one's supposed to do _stuff_ in here."

"No stuff," Xander says easily. "Want something to eat?" He draws one finger down the neck of his beer, wiping away condensation. Spike finds himself watching that damp trail with parted lips. 

She shakes her head. "Wanda and I are headed out for tacos. I'll be back later to pick up my clothes."

She sweeps in to peck Xander on the cheek and give Spike a sharp look before departing.

A moment after a vehicle in the drive starts up and pulls away, Toby trudges in, skateboard in hand, enormous hoodie with a blurry skull logo draped over his skinny frame, and jerks his thumb at the door.

"Eloquent as always, kiddo. By midnight -- no exceptions," Xander warns. 

"But you said before I could stay at David's tonight."

Xander pauses, considering. "So I did. You text from there -- _by midnight_ \-- and tell David's mom or dad to text me as well." 

Toby gives a sullen nod in reply, though he waves half-heartedly at Spike before leaving.

"So. Up for some reminiscing after all?" Xander rises and clears the empty bottles along with Spike's mug.

Spike watches as Xander reaches and moves, arms flexing, his _Anderson Carpentry & Supplies_ t-shirt clinging to his firm torso. There's calm confidence on his appealing features as he glances back at Spike before reaching for his keys and phone.

"Could do with some, yeah," Spike allows, eyes shifting down to Xander's arse.

***

"So about those other vampires," Spike begins a while later. 

They're stationed at a small table at the dingy dive bar where Xander apparently has an in with the young tattooed barman. And now that they've already run through what Buffy, Dawn, and Willow are up to these days (running Slayers International from merry old England, writing manuals for said slayers remotely from L.A., and heading a coven in Oregon, respectively) and chatted about Spike's comings and goings since the fall of Wolfram & Hart, Spike figures he's cleared to pry. 

"Other -- oh, what Jill said? You know, you wouldn't think of him as a family-focused kind of vamp, but Angel's actually stopped by a time or two over the years to check in with us. So aside from your standard creature of the night know-how any former citizen of Sunnydale is going to impart to their offspring, yeah, I've also introduced my kids to a souled vampire before." 

"That ponce!" Spike says, indignant before he realizes he ought to reel himself in somewhat. "I see him all the time and he never breathed a word about you," he manages in a slightly more neutral tone.

True, Spike sees Angel only every few years. But those are practically regular Sunday suppers for the likes of them, particularly when they've often gone decade upon decade without crossing paths. 

To be absolutely fair, though, Angel might have been more a bit more forthcoming about his social interactions the last they'd met had he not spent much of their time together smashing Spike's head against the zippy little roadster Spike had seen fit to borrow and wreck without asking.

"Well, I can't exactly imagine Angel spinning tales for you about that one time he swung by to avert an apocalypse and I yelled at him for dripping demon guts all over my living room. Or the time I reamed him out for lurking around in the bushes and scoping out whether what was actually a harmless though admittedly grody Doberman-bite on Toby's leg was going to make my kid wolf out during the next full moon." 

"Well, he should have done." Spike puts down his beer and then picks it back up again. 

Xander nudges his own empty pint away and rolls his shoulders idly. "Any story that ends with me letting Angel use my shower and crash on my couch? Just cannot be one for the books of his crazy complicated demon-destroying century."

Spike hides his sneer in his pint, draining the last of the lager to steady himself. It's one thing for Angel not to mention he hasn't run into a mutual acquaintance. They both get a bit pointlessly possessive over contact with the Sunnydale crew particularly; a simple mention from Spike that he'd run across Faith in Budapest had ended in the two of them destroying a perfectly nice little caf&eacute by the evening's end. 

But even if Xander suggests those times were nothing more than Angel kipping on the couch, the decorating choices in the room Spike stayed in last night fuel suspicions of at least one other scenario.

"Often enough you bought those light blocking shades for him, though, eh?" Spike asks like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Let Xander try that one on for size before Spike springs the question of whether similar shades hang in the master bedroom. 

"For Angel?" Xander snickers, and somehow it's beguiling instead of irritating. Spike keeps his mouth twisted into a scowl so his lips won't twitch up at the sound. 

"No, the guest room used to be Jill's for years when she was a kid, back before I built the addition. You think she's a handful now, you should have seen her at six years old when even a speck of light would wake her up at the crack of dawn and translate into hours of fun-time histrionics for the rest of us. That girl needs her sleep like no one's business." 

Perhaps it's a bit odd to try to chat up a man when he's just been telling tales of his kids and their sleep habits, but Spike's nothing if not resourceful. So he arches an eyebrow and leans in a bit, lowering his voice. " 'Course, that must be the only reason you keep those shades around these days, obviously, for a girl who has long since moved out. Not because you just might fancy having a room that can go completely dark for a bit of rough play, is it?" 

"Nope. Though now that you mention it..." Xander's expression goes considering, as if he's calculating the possibilities.

Too bad Spike's next segue (suggesting Xander might try taking advantage of that darkened room along with one very willing guest tonight -- he's got all sorts of fun tricks he'd like to try out if he gets a chance at Xander) completely stalls when a visitor strolls over.

Far as Spike can tell, there's no table service in this joint. But the bartender from earlier obviously hasn't gotten the memo since he's stopped by to set down two fresh pints and trail his fingers across Xander's back. When Xander grins up in acknowledgement, the other man flicks his eyes to Spike and away before grasping Xander's shoulder, leaning down to tell him something in a suggestive whisper. 

Spike shoots a disdainful look at the sleeve tattoos that run up his tightly muscled arms; bloody twenty-year olds go ahead and get them all at once nowadays. He'd gotten an eyeful of the ink already when the git leaned across the bar as Xander ordered pints for them. Seemed a bit chummy for swill-swigging place like this, him smiling and touching Xander's hand briefly before getting their order; never mind the inviting shake of his dyed-black locks and mischievous smile when he refused Xander's proffered money. 

All that's nothing to how he's behaving now, lips a breath away from brushing Xander's ear, that possessive hand on Xander's shoulder rubbing forward slightly until his fingertips graze Xander's collarbone.

Xander laughs at whatever the berk's said, shaking his head and reaching across his chest for a brief clasp of the hand resting on his shoulder. The bartender stands, looking only slightly put-out. He's got the gall to send a knowing smirk Spike's way before he makes for his place behind the counter. 

"Don't let me stop you slipping back to the gents'," Spike growls out, forgetting his earlier resolve to play it cool. 

Instead of disavowing the possibility or changing the topic rapidly, Xander cocks his right eyebrow, glancing back at the bar for a moment or two longer than strictly necessary. "Nah, I'm good." 

The _for now_ is unspoken. If Xander hasn't yet had a snog and a grope with the bloke still keeping an eye on them as he wipes down the counter, there's absolutely no doubt he's open to the standing offer. 

That well-known shaky hum works through Spike's system, the sort that makes his fangs itch as though they're about to drop. If he doesn't want that particular scene to unfold, he's got to find a distraction and quick. 

He has half a mind to start by breaking chairs over anyone who looks at Xander like they have a shot; hell, he'd reached his limit even before the bartender sauntered over, what with the bookish young bloke with the striped cardigan across the room blinking at Xander like he just might be all his Christmases and birthdays come at once. 

On the other hand, Spike _has_ just got a fresh pint set in front of him. Excellent deterrent to violence, really. So he figures he best aim for a different diversion from the thrum of aggression simmering inside him, one that's slightly less blatant.

He takes a careful sip before starting. "So. You finally realized you fancied cock, yeah?" 

A woman with close-cropped hair at the next table gives a shocked little giggle at overhearing Spike's question. But Xander only leans back in his chair, regarding Spike calmly. 

"Sure seems like it, huh?" 

The patch slung over his left eye, instead of looking a bit pathetic to Spike as it had done back in Sunnydale, gives Xander a dangerous air even when he's completely at ease. It's a heady feeling to see Xander this steady, despite part of Spike wanting to rattle him into exposing the difficulties he must have had in years now gone by. Mostly it makes Spike that much more keen to tease out the tumult Xander's got to have lurking somewhere inside.

"How'd you end up with the nippers, then?" 

Xander's expression is thoughtful as he gives his pint of beer a quarter-turn on its coaster. "I wanted a family. I still like women. Jamie and I had fun, mostly, until things changed."

"What changed?" Spike asks gruffly.

"She started working as a paralegal once the kids were in school full-time, ended up wanting to be a lawyer. When she went back to get her degree, we were all so damn proud, but it was tough -- she kept her job part-time, and I took lots of extra projects to help make up the tuition. We didn't see each other much, and when we did..." Xander shrugs, taking another sip of beer.

"So it wasn't you liking blokes more that ended it for her."

"Hmm? Nah, though I guess it wasn't exactly a point in the Stay Married column for either of us once we'd already started to drift apart. Like I said, I like women too. It just turns out the more time goes by, it seems I like men more."

Spike stretches his legs out under the table, close enough to feel the heat from Xander's body even if they're not touching. He keeps his eyes on Xander while he takes a deliberate swallow of his lager. "I know what you mean."

"Do you?" Xander's right eye is dark and calm as he regards Spike, and of course the rakish eye-patch gives away nothing.

"Well. The more time goes by, it seems I like _certain_ types of men more." He lets his eyes drift along Xander's body and back up again before he finally meets his gaze.

Xander stares for a moment before he grins, wide and bright. "How many drinks does a vampire drink before he starts saying stuff he'll definitely regret come morning?"

"Hey," Spike objects. He's not so very drunk by anyone's measure, and he's never one for regrets when there's a good shag to be had in the bargain. And the more he sees and hears from this version of Xander, the more he's convinced there's a very good fuck indeed in the offing if he can get his way. 

"Come on." Xander's already standing despite his half-finished pint and taking a step for the door. "If we're at the stage of the night where you're trying to get into my pants for a laugh, I think we need to work some of this off."

Spike doesn't stumble as he rushes after Xander -- his reflexes are far too sharp, and he's nothing like clumsy when he's on the prowl after something he really wants -- but it's a near thing.


	4. Chapter 4

"You should know, it's not for a laugh," Spike calls out over the sound of three angry vampires roaring toward them.

After leaving the bar, Spike expected they'd climb into Xander's truck, probably followed by him climbing onto Xander. They'd head back to the house where Spike would crowd him against a wall until Xander decided to get his own back, forcibly reversing their positions and pinning Spike's wrists above his head with one hand. 

Then Spike would tear away that fucking _Anderson's Carpentry and Supplies_ t-shirt that has been clinging to Xander's body all night, taunting him. At last he'd have Xander up against him, warm soft mouth against his as he shrugged off his own coat and yanked off his shirt so they could press together skin to skin. Finally he'd get to scratch up that muscular back wildcat-style to accompany the grind of their hips and the thrum of quickened pulse all through Xander's body.

But it seems Xander meant something else entirely when he mentioned working off some of the tension between them. As the change in plans still counts as foreplay for Spike, he can't bring himself to mind so very much.

So when instead of heading back to the truck, Xander leads Spike down a network of alleyways until they reach a dilapidated set of old houses with music blaring from the most ramshackle of them, he follows readily. Seems a bit odd that a local cadre of vampires would beckon their meals to come to them, by throwing occasional raves to attract the young and half-cocked. But apparently some NoCal vampires like waving glow-sticks along with their feeding. 

"Me trying to get in your pants; that's not for a laugh," Spike shouts in clarification when Xander sends him a skeptical look, before grappling with the vampire headed his way. 

"Spike, seriously, you expect me to believe you're on the up-and-up? I get that you knew me as a kid; you probably put a thousand-and-one over me back then that I still don't know about. But by now you've got to give me a little credit for having been around the block a few times." 

As the vampire snapping at him snarls in frustration, Xander plunges a stake into her torso. He's obviously whittled that one himself; it matches the one he pressed into Spike's own hand moments ago. Spike's more than slightly taken aback he recognizes the workmanship all these years later. 

Familiar though the stakes might be, though, Xander's form has definitely improved over time. His staking is brilliant to watch, a practiced and confident motion with a quick stab and release that makes Spike's hips roll involuntarily at the sight. 

By this time they've tramped through the house shouting warnings, disconnected the booming sound system, and turned off the complicated flashing lights. Some of the spaced-out disappointed party-goers have begun to trudge off even before the sound of angry yowling fills the air. Now at last the final stragglers begin to make a break for it at the sight of their erstwhile hosts baring their fangs before turning into piles of dust. 

"I'm not trying to have you on," Spike retorts, letting out his aggravation in rapid-fire punches to the vampire he's handling before he too uses a stake to send out his adversary in a spray of mist. "I've wanted to get you alone ever since I saw you hit that demon with the two-by-four last night."

"Look, I'm flattered, for real," Xander begins. At this point he's just stopped to watch Spike tackle the final vamp, leaning against the deck's railing as he crosses his arms and looks enticingly stern.

Spike groans as he slams his knee into the third vampire's groin. "If you're trying to let me down easy, just stop right now, because I won't have it." 

"But even if I concede you're not funning with me or coming up with a sexy-touch scheme as a weird retributive joke for making you sleep in recliners or live in closets," Xander persists, "I'm really not about to fall into bed with you to satisfy your curiosity about what-ifs from way back when, or get naked with you just to give you another notch in your Sunnydale Class of '99 bedpost."

Spike scowls as he throws the last beleaguered vampire bodily against the house's dirty aluminum siding. Maybe once he might have tried to seduce Xander to cause some havoc, either to make those big brown eyes go dark with confusion at what eighteen-year-old Xander thought he knew about himself, or to sow a few more seeds of discord into that little group of theirs. And sure, he's thought a time or two about the might-have-beens with any number of the Sunnydale crowd; he still thinks now and again that Giles particularly would have been brilliant in bed (or over a table or against a wall) once he got worked up into a proper state. 

But he's got no particular reason to try to throw a spanner into the works of Xander's life now. As for the roads less traveled in his existence, after Dru, after Buffy, after everything fell apart in L.A., well. Surely he's learned at this point it doesn't much pay to spend time wondering. 

No, it's the thought of here and now, of this Xander Harris, the one who wears his years so well, calm and clear about his own appeal, that's got Spike wanting with this sharp keen urge. He's not about to let a chance to be with a man like this slip away, whether it's for one night or -- best to start with just the one, he thinks as he cracks a few more ribs on the vampire whimpering before him, or he'll go dizzy with the possibilities. 

"Okay, enough of that," Xander says suddenly, and just like back in front of the fridge at his home, he picks Spike up and moves him aside before burying his own stake in the vampire. 

When he gets a look at Spike's reaction, he laughs aloud. "Don't pout," he says, amused. "I know it's good to let aggression out, but you didn't have to put the hurt all over every last inch of him before you put an end to his misery." 

"Wasn't _pouting_." Spike kicks at a crushed beer can. He'd been about to end the fight himself, though it's not so much Xander stepping in that irks him as missing out on the chance to show off some more. 

Xander shakes his head. "Well, we're done here anyway. All the bad guys are dead and dusted. Let's head back."

Spike reaches out to grab Xander's wrist, not letting him turn away. "Not until you tell me why you won't give me a chance."

Instead of yanking his arm back or closing down at the challenge, Xander looks contemplative, his gorgeous dark-eyed gaze searching Spike's face. "You are serious," he says at last.

"Is it so hard to believe I want you?" Spike asks, his voice low. With a flash, a thought strikes him, and his jaw drops for a moment. It's not something he considers often these days, but it could be what's standing in the way here. "Or is it that you don't want me?"

For the first time since their unexpected reunion, Xander's slow smile speaks not just of the assurance he's earned through the years but of a hint of promise that could be for Spike alone. His voice is light as he says, "Pretty sure the last part's not a problem."

Without Spike noticing, Xander's already turned their hands palms-up, his fingers now encircling Spike's wrist instead of the other way around. He draws the tip of his thumb down Spike's palm, a light scratch that trails all the way to the start of Spike's middle finger. "Okay," he says simply, dropping Spike's hand and turning to walk the path back to the truck. 

Spike lets himself enjoy the view for a moment before he hurries to follow.


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as Xander gives the all-clear, Spike decides there are two ways this can go. 

One, they get into the truck and start right there, Xander hauling Spike over to straddle him, easing one of those sturdy hands down the back of Spike's jeans. Or he could tug an extremely willing Spike down by the scruff of his neck, pushing his face against the button fly of the denim Spike's been itching to peel off him all night. 

Two, they slide inside the Harris transport and sit deliberately apart, vibrating with the tension of what's to come until they get back to Xander's place. That surely would be followed by some lovely little stumbling over the living room furniture and ripping off clothes. Maybe the night would close out with a bonus bend-over for Spike at the kitchen table if he's very lucky indeed (no "stuff" in the kitchen be damned). 

What he doesn't expect is to hop up into the passenger side of the cab and have Xander turn a considering eye on him before he slowly and deliberately draws Spike forward, cupping the back of his neck and threading determined fingers through Spike's hair. 

It's a heart-stopping kiss if ever there was one -- if only Spike's heart still bothered to beat in his chest. 

"You like kissing, eh?" is all Spike can think to mutter in the brief break before Xander again uses that clever mouth to send Spike's brain back on the fritz. But who cares about quick come-backs if Xander keeps doing that gorgeous soul-melting thing with his tongue? 

"I like it lots," Xander says calmly. Even when he pulls back, his dilated eye still focuses on Spike's lips. His fingers tighten in Spike's hair, one tick away from a too-firm pull, and Spike lets out a murmur of pleasure that says _oh yeah, do that, again and again and again_. "And I like that mouth of yours. So get used to it."

Perhaps it's not as forceful a beginning as Spike would have liked out of the gate, but it's lovely all the same. For all that Spike adores the shoves and slams that start off fantastically rough sex, he's vampire enough to admit he often forgets how a subtle build-up can ratchet up the want in him all the more. He's happy to take the reminder to heart, though, especially when Xander presses in again for another kiss that makes Spike twist closer and pant unnecessarily.

Besides, Spike would be a horrible liar if he claimed he didn't feel a tendril of excitement uncurl in his gut at that plain-spoken "get used to it." The more he feels Xander's mouth on his, the more he's jittery for any insinuation there might be other times ahead for them.  
  
So a slow start it is, absolutely fantastic and maddening all at once when rather than head straight back to the house, they sit for a time in the cab and neck like teenagers.  
  
Not _precisely_ like teenagers, though. With the firm grip Xander has, one hand still clutched in Spike's hair, the other sliding back and forth across Spike's upper back and occasionally pressing between his shoulder blades to keep him close, well. Perhaps it's a bit more like the older next door neighbor with naughty designs on the teenager he's promised a ride somewhere. Or maybe like a shop teacher extending a detention to include a different sort of show of his authority for his secretly-favorite delinquent student. Or maybe, yeah, the hot fuckable single dad Spike's played babysitter for in hopes that the night would end not in a crumpled wad of bills but instead stretched out the couch with the father of those brats on top of him, muffling Spike's surprised excited cries with forceful kisses.

"Do I want to know what wacky scenarios you're spinning out in your head?" Xander asks, eyebrows rising. He brushes a thumb over Spike's lips. His smile widens when Spike nips at the pad of his finger. 

Xander can't read his mind, obviously. Spike would have cottoned on to such a thing back at the Hellmouth, where those sorts of funny little talents have a habit of surfacing early. Yet for a few strange seconds he can't help but feel exposed, as though Xander really can delve into Spike's thoughts.

For the first time in ages, Spike feels his cheeks burn red.

"Now that's nice." Xander's voice is throaty as he strokes fingers down Spike's throat. "Let's get you home so I can see how far down that goes."

* * *

"Tell me what you want," Xander whispers. 

"Want you to fuck me hard," Spike breathes out, squirming against the hard body pressed to his. 

Yeah, so he's not winning any points for originality, but sometimes it's best to go with the classics. 

They're in the master bedroom. As soon as they'd crossed the front threshold, Xander gave Spike a brisk little shove in that direction. He'd followed Spike's jog at a more leisurely pace, grinning when he found Spike already shucking his coat and kicking off his boots when he entered.

Now, instead of answering or giving Spike what he wants straight away, Xander mouths at the underside of Spike's jaw before drawing his teeth to scrape along Spike's neck. 

It's times like this Spike really wishes he could see himself in the mirror. Then he could admire those red marks later, caressing them gently before digging in harder to reawaken the sensations that accompanied them. 

"Come on, Spike," Xander murmurs. "That's how you want it to end. Tell me what you want first."

"I want to undo your jeans with my teeth," Spike rushes out. "I want to rub my cheek against your cock, and mouth and lick until I know every bit of it, cup your balls in my hand to feel their heat and weight, have you slide hard inside my mouth over and over until you make me choke --" 

He's stammering as the words fall from his mouth, as though he's nearly out of breath and light-headed because of how much he aches for what Xander can give him. Of course that's utter bollocks; it's been years since he needed to fill his lungs to survive. But something about the way Xander's hands tighten on him makes Spike's body forget it doesn't need air in that almost-forgotten desperately vital way. 

Xander brushes his knuckles gently against Spike's right cheek, considering. 

The respite lets Spike pull it together just enough so that he can grace Xander with a wicked smile. He's ready to sink to his knees already, but so much the better if Xander's the one to urge him down with those strong hands.

But instead of pressing at Spike's shoulders, Xander unexpectedly hefts Spike _up_. 

Spike categorically does not yelp when this happens. 

Okay, maybe he lets out a surprised shout, which if he were in a fight obviously would announce the start of his own retaliation. But he's not stupid enough to think of getting his own back right now. If anything, he'd rather give over more of it. So he's not a bit ashamed to gasp and writhe when Xander boosts him higher in his hold to the point where he can wrap his arms around Spike's trembling thighs instead of his middle.

"Oh fuck," Spike chokes when Xander, still holding him up, nuzzles his abdomen where his t-shirt's ridden up, lightly biting over his exposed hipbone from where his jeans have begun to slide down.

"Much as having you on your knees sounds pretty freaking incredible, first I've got to ask something I always wondered about vampires," Xander says conversationally as he tosses Spike to the bed. 

Spike actually bounces against the mattress, feeling his face go slack in surprise for a second before he trains his attention obediently back on Xander. Xander, who's still standing like there's no hurry at all, like he's surveying the landscape for one of those construction jobs of his before he decides where he's going to break ground first. 

Spike works his t-shirt up even more when he adjusts himself to listen (after all, not like he's above playing to his strengths). "What's that?"

"Well, vampires do everything a little faster, harder, stronger, right?" Xander leans back against the dresser with his hands in his pockets. It's infuriating and exciting all at once, to view Xander in that relaxed stance just when Spike wants nothing more than to see him all hot and bothered. "Faster healing time, quicker recovery --"

"Come now, don't be shy," Spike says, his voice sliding lower at the same time his hand slides up to stroke his belly. "What do you want to know?"

Xander laughs. "Shyness isn't so much my problem these days, Spike." He smoothes the strap of his eye-patch, but it's less a nervous gesture, more like Spike when he turns his collar up just before he strides into flashing lights and blaring music of a club. "Okay. Straight to the point, then. How long does it take you to get hard again after you come?"

"Me, I can go again nearly right away if I want. Couple of times a night like that." Spike shrugs, but he's preening a little as he wriggles his hips to work himself higher up the bed, feeling Xander watch him.

"See, that's what I thought." Xander takes one step closer and then another, looking like he's sauntering over to a sure thing (which, to be fair, Spike absolutely is). "So it's definitely not like we're already at the finish line when you getting yourself off is just the opening act."

Spike shakes his head slowly, licking his lips. "Far from it."

"Good to know." Xander gives him a lopsided smile. For a moment Spike can picture him as that boy back in Sunnydale, that same grin on his face again and again -- perhaps the moment after he's cracked a joke (looking too pleased with himself by far), maybe a second or two after the Slayer absently mentions how she can always count on Xander, very likely during the slight pause just after Anya leaned in for a kiss.

But then Xander takes the last step to reach the bed, and his familiar smile takes on a novel nuance, the intimation that here's a man who knows exactly what he wants. 

"I know how much you like to rush in and do things your own way," Xander murmurs. "But here's what we're going to do first. You're going to take yourself out and show me just how you like it. Pull out all the stops. Make it so good I want to shove your hand aside and take over. Think you can do that for me?"

"That and more," Spike growls even while Xander looms over him.

"Good." There's a chair at the side of the bed, and Xander settles there comfortably. "Because if you can, then I'll definitely give you exactly what you want."


	6. Chapter 6

Spike's never had a first time with someone that started this way. 

With every other person he's fucked, it's started with a whirlwind of motion and passion, shoving and biting and tearing at clothes until they're lying panting and reeling afterward.

Sure, he's had his share of slow and teasing, or deliberate and disciplined somewhere along the way with this or that lover. But someone who watches while he strokes himself to a finish on the first go, that's definitely new.

Xander must have swung by the kitchen when they first returned to the house and Spike rushed ahead to the bedroom. Because he's gotten a tall glass of water at some point, and now he takes a swig as he watches, throat working as he tilts his head back to swallow.

As soon as Spike's sure he has Xander's full attention again, he thumbs open the first button on his jeans, giving Xander his best mischievous look and touching his tongue to the back of his teeth in an open come-hither smile. 

"Good start," Xander says evenly. But for all that he's still calm, there's a kind of coiled excitement in Xander as he waits to see how Spike will really get the show going. It's in the way he watches, the iris in his eye blown wide and dark, in the set of that lovely mouth of his, lips moist and parted slightly, in his posture, muscles slightly tensed at the ready for whatever comes next. 

"Wait till you see what I've planned for a follow-up." Spike gets his fly all the way open, flicking the buttons one by one, and starts to shimmy his jeans down his hips. Of course he's not wearing pants, so when he moves the fabric lower his freed erection arches back to touch his belly.

"That's enough. Stop there."

"You filthy sod," Spike says, delighted to let the denim bunch mid-thigh. "Not going to let me pull them all the way off, eh?"

Xander doesn't answer, just takes another drink of water. But he's absolutely unabashed as he regards Spike's cock with keen interest, a small smile playing on his lips. 

"Yeah, okay." Spike gives his hips a playful little roll before he rests his lower half against the bed and raises his back a bit to yank his t-shirt over his head.

"No," Xander interrupts. "Don't." 

"Ah, _fuck_ ," Spike bites out as he freezes. It's all he can do not to take himself in hand and pull fast and hard to the finish right there.

"You can push it up, but leave it on," Xander instructs. "I want to see it on you."

"Thought I was supposed to show you how I like it," Spike counters. It's probably an open secret right about now, though, that Xander telling him what's what is _exactly_ what Spike likes.

"Well, yeah. But I'm guessing you want to make sure I like it too, right?" He's let the glass rest on a side table, and now he draws his index finger along the condensation dotting the outside of it as he flashes a grin at Spike. 

So Spike leaves the soft cotton clinging to his chest, letting the palm of his hand skitter over it across his stomach. When Xander shifts ever so slightly, Spike strokes his fingers back upward, making sure to tweak the fabric along his path as he makes a pass over his right nipple. He plucks at it a few times before treating the other to the same. 

In a few moments more he's flicking both of his nipples with his thumbs, stuttered breaths accompanying the quickened fluttering of his eyelashes. At last he can't resist any longer and shoves the fabric higher up and mostly out of the way, working the tender skin harder as he feels his hips jerk up involuntarily. 

"That's good." In the dim lighting of the room, Xander's mostly in shadow, but Spike can easily spot him licking his lips as he keeps his attention on Spike's every twitch and shiver. "That's really good, Spike. Keep going."

"Like what you see so far?" Spike asks. He gets his feet planted on the mattress and lifts his hips slightly while he drags a thumb along his bared skin to where the fabric has slipped down over his left nipple. He gasps when he pinches himself hard right through the t-shirt. 

"Best show I've seen in a while," Xander says frankly. And then a second later in what Spike considers a personal triumph, Xander leans forward, shifting his weight as he murmurs, "Well, would you look at that? There it goes." 

It's that flush heating Spike's skin again: it's been buzzing along his nerves at a low hum for some time now. But at Xander's praise he can feel it spread like wildfire from his cheeks down his throat, over his collarbone, fanning out along his chest. 

A few moments more, and Spike can't keep his hands off his cock any longer. So he leaves off stroking his chest, snaking his right hand down to curl around his prick. He can't help the little grunt that escapes when he finds his rhythm, fingers in a tight ring sliding down, drawing up and over the head, easing down again.

"Get your other hand in on this," Xander tells him. The words come at an even pace but there's a rough edge in his voice. "And don't just stroke until you get yourself off, baby; show me everything you're doing."

Spike curses as he briefly gets himself tangled when he moves and the duvet decides to move with him. But he's not letting that stop him from following what Xander wants him to do, especially not if Xander's going to use those sorts of words in that gorgeous rough tone. So he vents his frustration in a huff even as he scrambles to stretch himself at more of an angle on the bed, to make sure Xander's really catching every bit of this from where he's seated.

Finally he's shifted to a better position. He strokes his cock twice more before slipping his other hand lower to cup his balls and hold them up like they're on the display. It's a bit of a contortion while contending with the slide of the bedclothes under him. But it's well worth it when he hears Xander's breathing pick up even further. 

For a short while there's nothing to be heard but the small sounds of effort escaping Spike's lips and the slick smack of his hand stroking flesh. Then he hears the words, "Spread your legs a little more."

It's not an easy job, because with his jeans still at his thighs he's hobbled from spreading as far as he'd really like. But Spike struggles to achieve the results as best he can, twisting atop the covers, and soon enough he's got himself on proper display.

Another few minutes pass, and though Spike tries to keep focused on Xander's reactions, he can't help but get a little lost in the act, the drops of slippery pre-come easing the way of his strokes, his nipples even more peaked and sensitive the longer his prick remains hard. He groans as he lets his head tip back (he's squirmed down enough that he's well away from the pillows at the head of the bed at this point) and works his hips up. 

"How about you show me what else you can do with that mouth of yours?" Xander says suddenly. Spike can imagine how hazy he must look when he turns his head with some effort to pant and try and pay attention. "Fingers," Xander says low. "Slide them in and out of your lips. Show me how good you are at sucking."

Spike doesn't even try to stop his full out moan when he hears that. Truth be told, he almost smacks himself in the face with his left hand in his rush to comply and whimpers gratefully when he finally starts in sucking his index and middle finger at once.

"Sweet holy fuck, that's a pretty sight," Xander praises him. 

A few moments later and Spike's worked out the point and counter point: hips thrusting as he jerks his erection into his tight fist, fingers shoving past his eager lips as he makes his mouth tight around them to get them nice and wet. "How long could you keep this up, just like this?"

Spike makes a pitiful sound around his fingers. He could keep on for hours, but it's already torture to him holding back, especially because he wants Xander next to him and taking him rough for the next round. 

"Sshh, you won't have to stretch it out. I won't make it too hard on you this time, okay?" Xander croons, and Spike goes right ahead and makes another pathetic mewling noise through the slurping. 

"Speed up," Xander adds in a voice that's begun to go hoarse. Spike does, drawing his teeth against his fingers as he gets them going faster, in and out, matching the speed of his hand on his cock. 

"Oh god, I've got to," he chokes out at last. He gasps as he draws his hand away from his mouth to reach down and stroke his balls that have gone tight and high against him. Too bad he's in no shape to finger himself properly, out of control as he feels right now. But he can get his fingertips to stroke clumsily against that sensitive opening, so he does, hitching breaths turning into small cries he couldn't hold back if he wanted. He's pulling his prick almost too hard now, the edge of pain mixing in with the pleasure.

"So good. You're doing such a good job, baby. That's right, let me see you," Xander tells him. "Show me."

And that's all Spike needs before he lets out a desperate sob, thrusts his hips, and comes.


	7. Chapter 7

For a few minutes Spike's good for absolutely nothing. Never mind all his smug talk earlier of going several times a night; now he just lets himself lie there with his eyes closed, stunned and feeling as if he could sleep a week. 

When he feels a hand stroke through his hair, he turns to see Xander's seated on the edge of the bed, looking down at him intently. Maybe it's because Spike's still feeling overcome that he pushes his head into the touch, or maybe he's just a silly romantic sod. Either way, he's too raw to pull himself together and put on an arrogant show for anyone right now. 

When Xander strokes the back of his neck in a light massage, Spike rolls his shoulders and hums something nonsensical, floating in the last of the languid feeling. 

"That's it. I'm keeping you," Xander murmurs as he returns to petting Spike's hair. 

Spike gives a weak laugh at what's obviously meant as a joke. But even so, there's an excited twist in his gut at the words. The lethargic calm in his body starts to ebb away and Spike opens his eyes properly, watching Xander lean over him. 

There's a smile tugging at Xander's lips as if he's sensed the change. "Ready for more?"

"Ready for whatever you can give me."

Xander's brows rise. "Sounds like a challenge."

"Maybe I mean it as one." His near stupor of only moments before seems distant enough to be forgotten entirely. Now there's a thrill prickling under Spike's skin as thoughts of what's going to happen next race through his mind. He half-raises himself on his elbows, ready to take part. 

"Nah." Xander gives him a gentle push. "I like you where you are." 

Spike snorts, but he relaxes again more than willingly. 

When Xander stands and steps back, though, Spike can't help but tense. He thinks he's hidden it well, at least until Xander glances down at him and says, "Hey, I'm not going anywhere." 

"Yeah, obviously," Spike replies quickly. He draws his fingertips down his sides, playing at showing off just why Xander won't want to leave. 

"I'm really not. Just watch." The words aren't calm precisely, because that hoarse excitement is back in Xander's voice. But there's an ease and control there that gives Spike assurance enough to turn his attention to Xander instead of getting distracted. 

Xander reaches behind his head to yank his t-shirt over his shoulders, and Spike inhales sharply when he realizes Xander didn't mean "just watch" metaphorically. 

As soon as he sees Xander bare-chested, Spike decides that he ought to stay that way at all times. He's very fit, and not only for his age. There's evidence of manual labor all over the flex of muscles in his arms and chest when he balls up the t-shirt and tosses it to the side. The tan on his arms is only slightly darker than that on his torso, and Spike swallows hard at the thought of Xander working with tools and machines outside, his shirt shed carelessly while he labors in the sun. 

"Not going to let me do that?" he interrupts when Xander's hands settle on his belt. 

"Maybe next time," Xander says easily. He undoes his jeans, not rushing but not bothering to make a show of it either. With an a casual grasp of the material, he tugs them off, along with a pair of black boxer-briefs Spike might have liked to spend some time mouthing over and dampening before they moved on to the next step. 

It's well worth it, though, when Spike sees his first glimpse of Xander's cock. Though he already got a very encouraging sense of size and girth when he felt it hard against him earlier, seeing it fully bare, stiff and gorgeous is enough to make his lips part and his fingers twitch to touch. 

"Didn't I say stay put?" Xander asks mildly. 

Without realizing it, Spike's started to prop his torso up again out of pure instinct to get closer. 

"What, you're going to stay all the way over there?" Spike objects. 

"Nope. I'm coming where you are."

Spike flops back in a show of obedience, though he grumbles for the hell of it. But he stops making any sort of noise at all when Xander kneels on the bed and starts to crawl over him. 

The mounting desire to have the two of them lined up, pressing and rubbing, makes Spike gasp with want. H¬¬e's hard again already, has been from the moment Xander started taking off his clothes. Just for a moment he considers it might not be so bad, giving up Xander fucking him hard, if he can feel every inch of Xander's body against him while they get off together. 

But Xander doesn't stop when their bodies are lined up. He keeps on shifting forward instead, pulling Spike's arms away from his body slightly. Half-dazed as he still is from coming, it's only when Xander finally gets his first knee pressed against Spike's left armpit that it dawns on Spike what's on the menu for the next round.

His groan at that full realization of what Xander's going to let him do next sounds desperate and needy even to his own ears; it makes for a funny contrast to Xander's quiet laugh in reply. There's a moment of adjustment as Xander slots himself into place to hover above Spike, and then that gorgeous cock of his is inches away from Spike's mouth as Xander looms over him.

Spike's pretty sure he must have made another whimpering noise, because Xander laughs again, louder this time. It's an affectionate, playful sound, and it lets Spike pull back a little instead of going over the edge entirely. His prick is entirely almost painfully stiff already, and though there's a low throb at the base of his spine urging him to come as soon as possible, he doesn't want to lose himself again just yet. 

"Want this?" Xander brushes just the tip of his cock against Spike's lips with one hand while he holds Spike down by his right shoulder with the other. Spike could press back easily, of course, move up even if Xander wants him to stay put. But he's all for this lovely little display of who's in charge, so he has no reason to stage a protest. 

He opens his mouth to answer, or maybe just to slip his mouth over that tantalizing head of Xander's cock, when Xander leans back, almost sitting on his chest, keeping his erection just out of reach. 

"You fucking tease," Spike moans out in approval. "Yes, fuck yes, I want it! Come on!"

"Tough choice," Xander muses. "Sliding in your mouth is definitely at the top of my list right now, but then I don't get to hear what you're going to say next." He pulls on his prick as he considers the matter, a slow stroke up and down. 

Spike squirms, the frustration tensing his muscles and surging adrenaline throughout his body. He thrusts up into air, feeling the pathetic sensation of his hard cock uselessly seeking out friction. 

Meanwhile, Xander gives himself another tug, then a third. The thought that he might finish that way and not let Spike have him the way he wants sends a desperate quiver all the way up Spike's body. 

" _Please_ ," he says, and it's so strained and quiet that it's a wonder Xander can hear him. 

Xander does hear him, though, because though he moves only slightly, shifting from one knee to the other, the teasing tenor of the moment turns far more serious. "You were so good with your fingers before," he murmurs, the praise somehow wonderfully soothing to Spike's jangled nerves. "You made me so hard just watching."

Though Spike's loved every bit of what Xander's said to him so far, though he's reveled in everything he's gotten to say back, he's almost stupidly grateful when Xander doesn't add anything else before rolling his hips forward and letting Spike slide his lips along the length of his gorgeous cock.

In this position, he can't do much to control things. But he can tighten his lips and suck and lick for all he's worth, cramping his neck with his efforts. When Xander grunts, keeping the thrusts in and out steady but going deeper each time, he lets go of Spike's shoulder. Spike makes a small appreciative noise at the freedom this grants before he reaches one hand to clutch at Xander's lovely arse and slides the other to skid up Xander's chest to pluck at a nipple. 

"Fuck, the mouth on you," Xander whispers, picking up the pace slightly. 

Spike moans in agreement, because there's no point pretending he's not very good indeed at this. For his part, Xander obviously knows both what he likes and how to make small adjustments to this or that signal from his partner. Every move he makes broadcasts how he's obviously had his pick of eager lovers in his time, how he's clearly been just as keen to ensure he's made those experiences good for them in return. 

Spike almost chokes on Xander's next thrust, not because Xander's juddered forward too hard, but because he has the wild thought that the two of them together could give a master class on the art of the blowjob. 

He can't make up his mind whether to close his eyes and just enjoy the wash of sensations (the musky scent, the silky skin, the texture of the head, the rhythm of the thrusts) or open his eyes and watch the enticing images (Xander holding himself easily above him, the way he's planted one hand on the wall above the headboard to steady himself as his strokes in and out get just a little more wild, the way Xander's curling his abdomen enough so that he can watch his cock going in and out of Spike's mouth). 

It's all too much, so perhaps Spike shouldn't be shocked when he feels his prick start to pulse, completely untouched. He only just manages to reach down in time to hold himself through the rest of the tremors working their way through his body, feeling the come streak his torso and make a mess of his hand. 

Above him, Xander pauses, letting out a shuddering breath as he pulls out completely. His face is gorgeous, eloquent with the strain of holding back from finishing in Spike's eager mouth, and Spike can't help but wriggle with triumph since he's the one who made him look that way. 

As Spike watches, still panting and completely come undone for the second time that evening, Xander takes a deep breath, then another. He's got one hand tightened around the base of his cock already, and as Spike blinks up at him, he manages to slip the other down to massage Spike's jaw. 

It's a tiny gesture, but the chivalrousness of it makes something in Spike's chest twist; moments away from losing himself to the pleasure, Xander's impulse is to take care of Spike as well. Spike feels the smile start to spread across his face -- not the cocksure grin he flashes when he's certain of getting his way or the slow tease of a smirk before a fight, but the sort of vulnerable look he can't control, that it's been ages since he showed anyone. 

"More?" Spike asks, hopeful as Xander exhales, seeming a little calmer now. 

Xander laughs, shifting off Spike and settling to the side before he sits back on his haunches. "I'm pretty sure I'd be all kinds of crazy to stop now, so yeah." He leans down to nip at Spike's belly and then reaches out to flip him onto his front. "Definitely more," Xander murmurs as he strokes up Spike's thighs to squeeze his arse, making Spike shiver as he pushes back into his touch.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I will post Part 9, the conclusion to this story, later this afternoon. I would love to hear from you if you've enjoyed this fic; I've had such a great time returning to Spike/Xander, my first fanfic OTP, and any feedback is totally welcome.

By the time Xander has two fingers inside Spike, the steady stream of curses and praises coming from Spike's mouth starts to sound like the best sort of ecstatic poem. There's the rise and fall of words woven together, the cadences of high and low sounds, the combination of choked off reactions and effusive wild cries, until every syllable and sigh surrounds them in an almost tangible web.

Spike wouldn't be surprised if even the Greek and Latin he studied as a boy has made it into the mix somewhere. But truthfully, the more Xander teases and strokes and _owns_ him, the less sense Spike's able to make of the words falling from his mouth. 

Xander's heavy breathing makes for an enticing accompaniment whenever Spike's able to take hold of his senses and tune in. Yet Xander hasn't done so much as press his stiff prick against Spike's thigh, never mind taking himself in hand for a hasty pull (Spike would have heard _that_ , no matter how far gone). It should make Spike unbearably smug, knowing it's only his helpless reactions driving Xander's desire right now, but he's enough to handle at the moment just barely clinging to his own awareness.

Even as he's swept up in the exhilaration, though, part of Spike wants to bang his head against the wall with frustration. There's absolutely _no way_ Xander can't feel that Spike doesn't truly need this much of a warm-up. His rhythm is too deliberate, the press and pull of his fingers too skillful, for Spike to imagine for a moment Xander's actually worried about preparing him for what they're about to do. Spike often likes it rough, after all. And after doing this sort of thing countless times through the decades, he doesn't doubt he's perfected how to communicate with just a push back or a twist of his spine how much is just enough. What's more, Xander obviously knows how to read his partners; the urgency in his own breathing shows he's as ready as Spike is to take it to the next level.

So if Xander is still keeping at it, it's clear he must just fucking love every moment of it, too much to stop right away. Even now, as Spike begs and works his hips, Xander shushes him, obviously refusing to deprive himself of a second of seeing Spike squirm, hearing him swear, feeling him shiver. 

Spike has almost despaired of reaching the next stage when he hears a desperate whine low in his own throat. Thank Christ Xander hears that frantic signal for what it is: he glides a steady palm down the length of Spike's back and at last draws his fingers away.

The squelch of lube has been sounding obscenely around them for some time now, but the noise of Xander's cock finally, _finally_ being slicked has Spike mumbling out grateful raw sounds, a primal paean shot through with overwhelming relief. 

"I know you're ready for it," Xander says, his voice low and thrilling. As soon as Spike manages a ragged noise of agreement, Xander murmurs, "So I won't make you wait any longer." 

The slide in is slow and steady and complete. When Xander briefly pauses at the end before beginning to rock in and out, Spike hears his own strangest reaction yet: a complete and stunned sort of silence as his entire body shakes with the fulfillment of it. 

He's mouthing the words, "Yes, yes, _Xander_ ," for some time before he can manage to get a sound out again. The rhythm's achingly familiar of course, but something about how Xander twists his fingers in Spike's hair, pushing his head to the mattress and occasionally holding Spike down by his neck as he thrusts, knocks Spike off balance in a way that makes his eyes actually tear up with sheer excitement. It's possibly Xander's greatest skill near as Spike can figure it out: taking something utterly common, a kiss or a stroke or a snap of his hips, and infusing it with his talent for control and care until everything seems entirely new again.

When Xander pushes and props up Spike's hips to keep his arse high in the air as he fucks him, Spike stammers, "Sweet fucking hell!" His cheek mashes to the sheets, making his nose skid against the mattress. His body's been artfully arranged at the perfect angle, letting Xander's strokes send shocks of pleasure through him. And his cock throbs, painfully hard again, though his body's increasingly signaling to Spike through the overstimulation that he's going to need something more this time than just his own hand to set him off.

A second after Spike makes a distressed noise at his own realization, Xander presses his chest to Spike's back, scraping his teeth along Spike's neck. "Close," he grunts out, breathing hotly for a moment in Spike's ear before he tugs the lobe between his teeth and draws his teeth down Spike's neck. And isn't that incredible, hearing Xander edging toward the end of his own self-possession? His thrusts appear to stay steady, probably would feel so to a human partner. But Spike can feel the beginnings of syncopation in the twist of his movements that will lead them to the frenzied end.

"Do it now, then," Spike urges him brokenly. 

With one last bite to Spike's shoulder, Xander again pulls his upper body back in wordless reply. Spike would moan at losing the feel of Xander's muscular chest so close to his skin, but if this lets Xander kneel and re-establish that torturous and delicious angle from before, Spike's all for it. 

"Anything else you want to say to me first, baby?" Xander's voice is shaking now. He grips Spike's hips tight enough to bruise. 

The sound that comes from Spike's mouth is nothing more than a helpless cry. Xander plunges in harder in answer before he urges Spike in a hoarse voice, "Come on, baby. Say it. You know I want to hear it."

If Spike wanted, he could tighten around Xander right now, get him to lose himself entirely. It's the only way Spike might keep this one last vulnerable bit of himself safe when the rush of bliss overtakes them. 

Instead Spike tilts his hips up just that tiny bit more that he's able and gives himself over entirely, to the word and the thought he's wanted to shape his mouth around since ever since he mentioned it in teasing. "Please, daddy, please," he moans, too far out of control to contemplate holding any of it back anymore. "Let me have it, all of it, daddy!"

The throaty cry Xander gives as he judders his hips forward and starts to come sends the loveliest tremor through Spike, humming along his skin and sending his eyes rolling back in his head. Though it's a hell of an effort to stay attentive right now, Spike wrenches the bedclothes in his hands and does his best to let every jerk and tightening of Xander's hips sink all the way through his skin to lodge in the most private recesses of his memory. 

When Xander reaches to tug him to completion even as he's still panting through the last of his own orgasm, Spike can just feel the start of the blissful open-mouthed smile on his parted lips before he comes, and a welcome darkness surrounds him.


	9. Chapter 9

The sun comes up, and Spike feels the urge to drop down deeper into sleep like he always does, even if there are blackout shades blocking out most of the light from the windows. 

But this particular time Spike finds himself draped over Xander, brushing his lips over a smooth brown nipple as he moves with the steady rise and fall of a firm chest. When Xander's breathing and heartbeat edge toward wakefulness, Spike reckons he could give up the prospect of his usual daylight kip in favor of seeing what else his bedmate might have in his very adult bag of tricks. 

Xander's left fingers tighten around Spike's shoulder as he begins to wake, followed by the palm of his right hand smoothing down Spike's spine to rest on the small of his back. 

"Ready to go again?" Spike whispers. He hitches against Xander's leg to press his cock against that firm thigh so there can be no doubt about what he means.

"Mmmph," Xander breathes. His right hand slides lower, cupping Spike's arse for a gentle squeeze. "Part of me wants tons of coffee. But most of me wants you riding me hard."

Spike's about to put in his vote for option number two when he hears an indignant "Oh my _god_!" sound from the room's threshold, followed by a quick slam of the door.

"You'd think no one ever taught that girl to knock," Xander says, still groggy but already reaching for the eye-patch he'd discarded on the bedside table some time in the wee small hours. 

"Daddy!" Jill shouts from the hall, muffled by the door but loud as all get out anyway. "Me and you, in the kitchen! Ten minutes!"

Xander sits up, blinking and disheveled, leaving Spike to sprawl abandoned on the sheets with an irritable groan. 

"Okay. I hadn't thought I'd hear that particular one lobbed back at me again, you know, _ever_." When Xander runs a hand through his dark hair, his fingertips absent-mindedly trace through the attractive strands of grey coloring it and Spike wants to let loose a string of complaints about the terrible injustice of being interrupted. 

Instead he only grunts and tugs Xander back down. Though he's quickly becoming alert, Xander's body still feels sleep-warmed and loose-limbed. Damned if Spike wants to lose that to some family throw-down about unexpected overnight dates. 

But when Xander brushes a kiss on the top of his head and whispers, "I should check on her. I won't be long, promise," and eases away, Spike grumbles only a bit before he lets him go without more fussing. 

Spike's learned plenty about this improved-with-age Xander Harris since they've gotten reacquainted, but chief among the most important facts is just how much Xander adores his children. If this were a one-night thing, then Spike wouldn't much care about that. But if Spike really wants more of where that brilliant night they just shared came from, he figures he better at least learn to pretend he's all right with sharing Xander other ways. 

'Sides, Jill and Toby don't seem completely awful. 

The bedroom door clicks shut, and Spike's eyelids droop closed soon after.

* * *

"So much for 'won't be long,'" Spike grumbles when he hauls himself out of a deep sleep at last to discover the sky's gone hazy with twilight. He's pulled on one of Xander's more threadbare t-shirts over his jeans and it hangs on him, exposing his collarbone on one side. From the way Xander's eye darts over his throat with keen interest, it seems like a good choice. 

"I did come back," Xander says reasonably, stretching in a way that makes his t-shirt pull tight over his chest. He sets aside what seems like a stack of official invoices on the table and leans back where he sits, strong denim-clad thighs spread temptingly on the kitchen chair. "Two times, actually, in between Toby coming home and heading back out again. But you were down for the count, and I figured you might need a little more rest after last night." 

His words could seem all gentlemanly solicitousness, but the grin he shoots Spike is utterly brazen. It's a good look on him, Spike decides as he strolls over to sink down astride Xander's lap and cover those smiling lips with his own. 

"How did it go with the eldest?" Spike says gruffly some time later.

"Jilly?" Xander cups Spike's shoulders with strong hands and slides down a bit so that Spike's resting more of his weight on Xander's legs. "Well, I told her off for bursting into my room uninvited. And she told me off for worrying her when she couldn't reach me this AM. And I said she has to calm down and not expect me to be immediately at her beck and call when I have a guest. And she screeched I can't just go around sleeping with vampires, even ones I've known since I was a stupid jerky teenager. Then she burst into tears."

"Christ. And Toby?"

"He's generally still clueless about stuff for the most part, and we kind of like to keep him that way. But I did mention you were asleep in my room so he wouldn't head in there to rummage around for t-shirts he can wear ironically. For now it's Jill who's freaking out; Toby will cotton on some time down the road."

Spike nods, though he doesn't really understand how this sort of thing works. 

"It's -- they've seen me date, and they've even met a few guys here or there when things got a little more serious." When Spike scowls at the mention of other men, Xander smiles indulgently and strokes a fond little caress up and down Spike's back. "But I think Jill is convinced after meeting you, and after what she walked in on this morning, that this thing between us could be an entirely different bag of fish. That's probably unnerving even for a big bad college sophomore like her." 

Spike hasn't expected them to speak so baldly about whether what's going on between them might be serious, at least not yet. But before he can overcome his surprise and throw in anything on the subject, Xander looks thoughtful and holds up one hand. 

"Hey, wait. Bag of -- nope, that's a different _kettle_ of fish." He pauses, pulling a face. "Wow that sounds gross. Even more gross than a bag. I mean, one or two fish, great, protein and probable deliciousness. But a whole kettle, unless you're serving an entire firemen's brigade, just sounds like the makings of something stinky --"

"Who goes to _firemen's brigades_ straight away when they're looking for examples? Should I ask about you and firemen?" Spike says, half-arch and half petulant.

Xander shrugs, looking unperturbed. "You should if you like to hear stories about exes. But otherwise, nah, probably want to leave it be for now."

Spike decides for now to avoid the question of Xander's past romps with handsome men who carry long hoses. Instead he repeats thoughtfully, "Different kettle of fish." He slides his fingers in the hair at the nape of Xander's neck and tilts his hips forward. "That only Jill's idea of the situation? Or something you're thinking as well?"

"That things might be different, maybe even more long-haul, between me and you? Could be. If we both want that." Xander gazes at him evenly. 

It's so far from how Xander would have reacted as a kid -- probably with horrified stumbling and fervent denials, to begin with, surely followed by blurted defensive words that would have ended the thing between them before they'd either really considered what they wanted -- that Spike intertwines his fingers behind Xander's strong shoulders, feeling like he's the one thrown off balance. 

Xander breathes in and out evenly as he smoothes the material of his own t-shirt over the bumps of Spike's spine, but his inhalations and exhalations are a little deeper than normal. It's the only outward indication that Xander's feeling the weight of the what-could-be that they're talking about and has begun bracing himself for the outcome. 

As for Spike, he's been on the move for so long he hasn't let himself think about settling anywhere for good. He's let occasional messages from Gunn and Angel about quelling this monster or subduing that mayhem mark out his path, until the trajectory of his life has become nothing more than tracking a trail of baddies. It's only now here with Xander that it occurs to Spike he just might be ready to let someone else deal with the demonic drama and give himself permission to stay put for a change. 

Still, he's already given too much of himself away in all of this business with Xander. By rights he ought to sit back and wait it out, see what Xander offers up as an alternative. Too bad he's never been especially good at holding back. Before he knows it he's asking straight out, "Well, one of us has to start, yeah? What's going on in that head of yours?"

Xander takes a deep breath, far more obvious than his earlier calming inhalations, before he speaks. "I get you've been on the move for the last little while, and that might be a thing you want to keep on with. So I'm not going to try to stop you if you need to go. But it does feel like -- this fits, between us." He skims his hands down Spike's ribs before resting them at his waist. "Look, I can't say I expected anything like it when we ran into each other. And yeah, bringing up future talk right now is moving kind of quick by anyone's standards. But if you want to stay for a while and see what happens here with me, I'm up for it."

"Are you?" Spike rolls his hips forward and grins. He's about to make a joke about how Xander definitely seems up for it already when Xander cradles his jaw in one hand, a calm but serious look on his face. 

It takes away the breath Spike doesn't need, having Xander give him that kind of steady, intent regard. He clears his throat as he thinks of what would have been unimaginable only days ago: living in a house with a teenager like Toby, dealing with a diva like Jill, trying to make things actually work with Xander. He stills for a moment, and all at once, the realization of how much he wants to try for a life with Xander rushes through him so fast it's like an adrenaline surge. 

"Could do," Spike says after a moment. "Stay for a while, that is. See how things play out."

"Good." Xander urges him closer and kisses his mouth before brushing his lips over Spike's forehead and then his closed eyelashes when Spike lets them flutter shut. "That's really good." 

 

*~* the end *~*


End file.
